


Little Pieces

by picklebridge



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Getting to Know Each Other, Pre-Relationship, Rogue Inquisitor - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23738416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picklebridge/pseuds/picklebridge
Summary: Cullen wants answers. Morwen wants a very long nap. Only one of them gets what they ask for, but both of them somehow get what they need.After the mages are offered an alliance with the Inquisition, Cullen is not best pleased by how the Herald handled things at Redcliffe. Morwen is having her third existential crisis of the day and is still struggling to understand how her life has turned into this. The conversation they have about it surpsises both of them.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	Little Pieces

The meeting drew to a close, Leliana leaving to tend to her ravens, Josephine to her treaties. It was a pattern in which Morwen still hadn’t figured out her place. Honestly, she spent most of their meetings staring at the war table, hoping that their fancy maps would illuminate just how she had gotten here. She certainly didn’t have a fucking clue; every morning she woke up and still expected to be in her bedroom in Ostwick. Was this all a tragedy or a comedy? She kept leaning towards the latter when they asked her about _strategy_ of all things. Strategy! As if slapping a fancy title on top of her mercenary coat made her anything more than a thug. Morwen Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste. Ha! The only thing she'd ever heralded before had been a dagger to the kidneys. But sure, just trust her with the salvation of the whole of Thedas. There was no way _that_ could go badly, right? 

It was best not to think about it. If she did, her ribs started to feel like a cage, her collarbones a noose. It was easier in the field, where she could fling herself into the menial tasks that people needed to keep them alive. Stabbing Templars and herding lost Druffalo were things she could do, and do well. Small, tangible things. One foot in front of the other until each day was over.

The war table was anything but tangible; it confronted her with every single thread that bound her inescapably to the gaping wound in the sky. There were a lot of threads. In Morwen’s opinion, Andraste had a lot to answer for.

There was movement on the other side of the table, and she flicked her gaze up to watch the Commander. Cullen stayed after every meeting, the last to leave the war room. Right now, he was matching the positions of troops on the table to his notes. His hair was molten in the candle light, the shadows deep in the tired hollows of his face. Always so serious. She could count the number of times she’d seen him smile on one hand. A difficult man to get a read on, too, which was surprising given Templars usually only came in two flavours: incorrigible bore or gigantic arse. She’d initially thought him the latter when she'd met him on their way to the Breach.

It hadn’t been until she’d heard him talk about the Inquisition and get carried away with his hopes for it, his passion, that she’d realised she’d maybe dismissed him too quickly. The real surprise, though, had been the sunny smile on his face when she’d teased him about the lecture. And the _blush._ Right up to his _ears._ While Morwen didn’t understand him, she was content that her end of their relationship currently consisted of trying to recreate that blush as often as possible. It was easier than having to confront his dedication, and his expectations of her.

The way he called her Herald, unwaveringly, _believingly._ If hearing it hadn’t filled her with nausea, the way his mouth curled around the word might have been appealing.

And the way he’d stumbled over his words when she’d asked him about chastity vows? Now _that_ had been truly delicious. It was a dangerous line of thought, but she’d wondered more than once how far that blush would go if she kissed him. Purely in the pursuit of knowledge, of course. Going from murderous heretic to divine saviour over the course of a few weeks hadn’t exactly put her in the mood for romance, but Morwen wasn’t blind. And she’d been raised among awkward, Chantry fearing men. Had lured a fair few of them _behind the Chantry._ The Inquisition’s good commander roused something in her that probably ran bone deep.

Too bad he didn’t seem to like her very much.

Abruptly, she covered her mouth to hide a yawn. Maker, she couldn’t even guess how late it was – after midnight was a given, but the Breach had warped the stars themselves into unrecognisable shapes, so they’d have been useless even if she could see them. She stared at the map on the table, not sure what answers she was hoping to find amongst the coded pins and counters. The Hinterlands were a warren of camp tokens and tacks, spreading outwards from the epicentre of Redcliffe. Morwen couldn’t help shuddering at the little model castle. Before being catapulted into an apocalyptic future, the whole ‘Herald of Andraste’ thing had just been a ball-ache. Now she really couldn’t deny that, religious connotations aside, she _was_ the lynchpin to this mess.

If the Breach hadn’t been on top of the hills, she’d have run screaming for them.

Andraste’s tits, _what_ was she doing? Why were any of them letting her make these kinds of decisions? More and more often Cassandra was pushing her to handle all of the diplomacy in the field, to make choices she had absolutely no business making. Morwen glanced up at Cullen again, at the frown creating deep furrows in his handsome face. He was looking at the new ‘mage’ counters laid out at Haven. She grimaced. He hadn’t exactly been pleased with her when he’d found out about the alliance, and the full circumstances that had led up to it. Cullen had barely even voiced his disapproval after his first, shocked outburst - he hadn't had to. The way he’d forcibly bitten down on his self-control was nothing short of formidable. Her quota for feeling sorry was honestly mostly reserved for herself the more this whole Herald business kept escalating, but she’d spared a little for his soldiers when faced with the angry tilt of his eyebrows.  
  
Suddenly his gaze snapped from his clipboard to meet hers. Morwen tried very hard not to squeak.  
  
“Herald? Are you...well?” Cullen asked. His tone was clipped, aggressive in a way she heard more and more regularly these days, when she made choices he felt were rash or ill considered. Morwen felt her lips twist at the title.  
  
“Yes, thank you, Commander,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. Their hawk-like amber was hard to focus on – it made her want to shrivel with guilt. Could he read in her face that she was a fraud?  
  
Cullen lifted an eyebrow and kept staring.  
  
“Is there anything I can assist you with?” He asked a moment later, leaning forwards to adjust the position of a patrol. “You do not usually stay after meetings.”  
  
Was that censure in his voice? Morwen knew that she was pulling a face, and wished the man would just let her wallow in peace. It wasn’t as though she’d _asked_ to be launched through the Fade and have her life completely ruined. For Maker’s sake, she was scared of her own _hand_ , and had been so frightened she was going to be strung up by the Chantry she’d had to stop to throw up in one of the fancy flower beds on their way into Val Royeaux.  
  
“No,” she said a little too sharply, then winced. “What I mean is – I’m just looking. At the table. I needed to clear my head.”  
  
Cullen shrugged and continued to prod at the map, but she could still feel his eyes on her.  
  
After a moment she leant over Haven, counting all the mage tokens and trying to imagine all that power coursing through her. It had been so painful last time - had felt like the skin was flaying slowly away from the bone. Humans had to hit an unpassable threshold eventually, didn’t they? One that you simply couldn’t live through? Helena was always regaling childbirth as the worst a woman could endure. While Morwen obviously couldn’t testify about the experience of forcing a new-born out through your extremities, she did wonder how her sister in law would compare childbirth to forcing demons through holes in the fabric of the world with your bare hands.  
  
It would be quite ironic if the Temple of Sacred Ashes really did turn out to be her place of death after all. Maybe she’d have a word with Varric, ask him to hurry her away down the mountain pass if she looked like she was on death’s doorway, just to spare her the embarrassment. Of all her companions, he’d probably take the request the most seriously. Although, the storyteller in him might _like_ the poetry of the Conclave ultimately claiming her after all –  
  
“Why did you do it?” Cullen asked suddenly, breaking the silence.  
  
“Do...What?” She could think of quite a lot of things she’d done in the last day alone, and a frightening quantity of them had been motivated by nothing more than blind panic.  
  
“Offer the mages a full alliance. Even after they sided with Alexius.” His eyes were fierce now and she felt pinned by them. “What were you thinking? I will not oppose you and show the Inquisition as weak, but – I would like – I _need_ to know why.”  
  
Of course he did. He’d always made it known this was something he felt strongly about. She could appreciate that. Maybe he had left the Order, but the Templars had been his life. Turning to the Mages like this meant sacrificing any relationship with the people he’d known and treated as brothers. And it was a sacrifice that she’d made for him. _This_ was why she wasn’t qualified to do this.  
  
“I – I don’t -“ Morwen stammered, then sighed. “It just, seemed best, I suppose. There wasn’t really time to think about the particulars.”  
  
“So you just didn’t?” Cullen sounded incredulous. “There was no thought process at all?”  
  
“There was!” Morwen protested. She bit her lip. She did know why she’d chosen an alliance – it didn’t take much soul searching – but Cullen probably wouldn’t approve. Not just because of the implications it had for the Templars and their stance against the Inquisition. The decision hadn’t come from a place of strategy; hadn’t come from thoughts of the Inquisition at all, really. Cullen didn’t seem like a man who would ever let himself be swayed by something as base as emotion.

Oh, Annais. She’d be willing to close the breach five times over if it would only bring her back.

“Did you know that I’m not actually the youngest Trevelyan?” She asked eventually, forcing her voice to stay light. He would get his answer, and if he was rude to her about it then she’d kick him in all the places it would hurt most.

“But Leliana’s file said –“

She hadn’t known that Leliana had written an entire _file_ , but she wasn’t surprised. The thought of the ugly things that must be written on it, of the contracts and marks that she’d carried out on behalf of her father over the years…something deep in her couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of the straight-laced Commander reading it.

“That I was the youngest of four, yes.”

_Two small bodies pressed together in a closet, dark hair mingling with light. Twin pairs of Trevelyan green eyes, full of tears, desperate words of hollow comfort bleeding together in the dark. The sound of footsteps and shouting Templars in the rooms beyond, many of them kin turned hunters. Knowing that this is borrowed time. All those hours they have spent combing every corner of the estate for its secret places, and this is their reward. Ten extra minutes, maybe an hour if they are lucky, in which to be sisters for the final time._

_Annais screams when they take her away, and Morwen screams with her. They hold each other until their arms are stretched taught. When their grip breaks, Annais takes Morwen’s heart with her._

Morwen smiled, and felt that old bitterness well up in her, a wound that had never closed. It never would now. “It’s amazing what nobles will do to protect their own reputation.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Cullen said, and it was a comfort, honestly, that he was still so innocent of political machinations.

Morwen sighed and hopped up onto the edge of the table, ignoring the way Cullen’s lips thinned with annoyance. “All you really have to understand is that my family would gladly insert their heads up the Maker’s ass if they thought it would buy them influence. My parents shipped their heir off into the Templar Order for the prestige – to illustrate how well that works in Ostwick, I think I had sixteen cousins of varying degrees at the Conclave.”

“I’m sorry.” To his credit, Cullen looked like he genuinely meant it.

“Don’t be,” Morwen shrugged. “Not more than for anyone else. I don’t think I had actually met any of them. My point is that Ostwick’s nobles fight each other over who can salivate on Andraste the most. When your youngest child turns out to be a mage, they’re a threat to that. So, you disown them.”

She watched consternation bleed onto Cullen’s face, the wordless question that formed there.

“Her name was Annais. She was a year younger than me, and she was perfect.”

In Morwen’s head Annais had always stayed as she was then – fair hair like gold, cheeks full of freckles, a face that held sunshine. She’d never been able to imagine how her baby sister might have aged, what time had done to the open joy that she remembered.

“We were fighting at the dinner table when she made all the candles explode. When they put the fire out, they interrogated both of us.”

Morwen sighed and turned her head away, letting her vision cloud over. She felt like she owed Cullen this story – to make him understand why recruiting the mages was the one decision she’d felt truly _sure_ of – but that didn’t make it easy. She had never spoken to anyone about this, not since she’d gone to Brogan crying with terror that night, asking if they would bring Annais back, and he’d hissed at her to forget about it. Her brother had never quite succeeded at taking his own advice, but he’d never stopped pretending to, either.

“I told them that it was me, but the Templars knew that I was lying. I’ve never forgotten how they spoke to me before they were sure, though. Like suddenly I wasn’t even _human._ ”

She dragged her eyes back to Cullen’s face and didn’t know whether the growing horror there was for what Annais had almost done, or what had been done _to_ her.

“They shipped her off to Starkhaven that night, because half the Templars of Ostwick Circle were either related to us or to our closest rivals, and having her go there was too embarrassing. I never saw her again, but they let us write letters after the third time I ran away from home to find her.”

Cullen broke in here incredulously. “Not ever? Mages were always allowed controlled family visits, no matter their station. Surely once you became an adult you could have seen her?“

Morwen couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Commander, nobility is a lifelong career; even if you play the game well, you’re still chained by it. Trust me, only something as embarrassing as being claimed by a heretical organisation has saved me from my father dragging me back to the Free Marches by the hair.” 

Cullen’s whole body had settled into a grim line, and this time she knew for sure that it wasn’t directed at her. He passed a gloved hand over his mouth. “I suppose I should not be surprised after my time in Kirkwall, and yet somehow, I still am. My superiors always did tell me I was too naïve.”

At the mention of Kirkwall Morwen winced; he didn’t have to say any more.

“I keep forgetting that you were stationed there. How many horrors you must have seen.” She said softly.

She’d visited the place once on a contract to take out the financial base of one of her father’s rivals, right before everything had properly gone to shit there. She could remember it clearly, the way the stark fear of the place had felt like a hand around her throat. It definitely helped to explain why Cullen felt so strongly about all of this. It said a lot about his character; while it wasn’t true to say he was unbiased, he had not let the conflict blind him as it had so many others. She hadn’t truly appreciated that before, but comparing him to all the Templars she'd had to kill in the Hinterlands...It was no small thing.

Cullen’s whole face twisted. It was his turn to glaze over, to picture something Morwen would never be able to see. “Before the Conclave, I would have said it wasn’t possible to see anything worse. And I had been so blind to it…to what Meredith was becoming.”

She was utterly blindsided by the depth of the guilt on Cullen’s face.

“To be fair,” she said softly, wanting to reach across the table and touch his hand, to bring him back from whatever nightmare she’d unwittingly asked him to relive. “I don’t think anyone could have predicted she’d turn into Thedas’ most terrifying garden ornament.”

Cullen’s lips quirked; it was a weak smile, but she’d take it.

“Even so…” he sighed. “There was much that could have been done to prevent what happened to the Chantry.”

The thought of Kirkwall’s Chantry brought the Mage Rebellion fresh to her mind, a bitter tangle of emotions lodging in her breast. Reluctantly, Morwen carried on her own story, wishing there was some way to dress up the ending into something better than the reality of things. At least it would distract Cullen from his own problems.

“I was so frightened when Starkhaven’s Circle fell after Kirkwall. Annais wasn’t able to send me a letter for three months, and even when she did, I worried. She’d always been the first to help other people – when we were children, she used to rescue birds from the cats on the estate and nurse them to health in her bedroom. I knew she’d be right at the forefront of things, trying to protect everyone else.”

Cullen had been making his way round the table; now he leant next to her, laying down his clipboard. “Were you hoping to find her in Redcliffe? I can ask our troops to look out for her when they are directing your allies here.”

Maker, if only. Morwen felt her heart concave under the fresh wave of grief that slammed through her. 

“No.” Her voice cracked sharply. “One of the last times she wrote to me was to say that she’d been nominated to attend the Conclave. I _begged_ my father to let me represent our family.”

She didn’t know how many times she had read and refolded the letter; so often that she knew it off by heart, the parchment growing thin and worn. It hadn't survived the Conclave, and she still found herself reaching into her pockets for it. She’d almost wept when Bann Trevelyan had looked at her in surprise at her request, then agreed. It felt like it was from another life, now, the hope so strong it had nearly _choked_ her. All for naught.

“I was looking for her when the Temple exploded, I think,” Morwen whispered, wiping away a few tears that she hadn’t been able to contain. Her throat hurt with the effort of not letting them overwhelm her. It hadn’t been until she’d seen the charred corpses, incinerated where they’d stood, that she’d truly accepted that Annais was gone.

It had been a disappointment when trying to close the Breach hadn’t killed her too. It still was. She felt guilty for it, because it was selfish, right? To care more about her own misery than the literal fate of the entire world?

She waggled her gloved hand at Cullen, feeling the Mark pulse fitfully under her skin. “Clearly I found something very different.”

A gentle hand came down to rest on her arm; she looked up in surprise to see that it belonged to Cullen. His amber eyes were like fire, his expression more open, kinder than it had ever been around her before.

“I’m so sorry, Herald.”

Morwen spluttered a weak laugh. “Did _you_ tear a great flaming hole in the sky, Commander?”

Her humour bounced ineffectually against the steady concern on his face. “We might have treated you with more compassion had we known that the Conclave had been so…personal. Besides the obvious consequences.”

Morwen opened her mouth to reply but couldn’t find any words, felt tears building up inside her instead, and switched tack entirely to try and avoid the mess she knew she was on the edge of becoming. The exhaustion in her bones was clamouring for attention; she didn’t _like_ exposing this much of herself to anyone, couldn’t even cope with the sympathy because she had gone so long without it. It was taking a lot of effort to not bolt, to remind herself that Cullen deserved this much from her.

Just a little bit further to go.

“The mages had already been shackled enough by their decision to follow Alexius. King Alistair wouldn’t let them stay in Ferelden. One way or another, they had to come with us,” she forced out, and Cullen let his hand drop from her arm, the full weight of his attention on her again. This was the crux of things. “I know that there needs to be some protection against what mages can become, but…maybe they need a chance to prove that they can provide that for each other. Annais had so many choices ripped away from her. All I could think about was how easily she could have been stood in front of me. And I – I couldn’t have looked her in the eyes and taken any more. If I wouldn’t have done it to her, I didn’t think I had any business doing it to anyone else.”

She looked down and away, sure that if she looked into the Commander’s face she would see censure for letting her personal feelings blind her. She would not feel ashamed of what she’d done – not for this. But Morwen knew she felt too raw to be able to weather a proper clash with him.

There were several long moments of silence where Morwen fiddled with a loose thread in her sleeve and let herself slump, the responsibility she didn’t think she’d ever know how to wear resting uneasy on her shoulders. She knew that if there was even one case of their mages turning into an abomination, she would torture herself with the what-ifs.

“Thank you, Herald.” Cullen’s voice was almost…soft. She met his eyes again and was surprised anew by the gentle smile on his face. No censure at all, just something close to relief. “And you have my apology; it’s easy to forget sometimes that you didn’t ask for this either. It’s inexcusable of me. I still can’t say I like the decision, but I understand. And I will honour the trust you have placed in me by speaking so freely about your sister. You will not hear a word of dissent about it from me again.”

Morwen let herself smile back, a little thrill lighting in her stomach at how easy it was when he was looking at her with such warmth. His apology was something she hadn’t even known she’d needed to hear.

“I value your opinion, Ser. And your dissent,” she let her smile turn cheeky. “I’m finding there aren’t many men that will spar with the mouth of Andraste.”

The blush that spread up Cullen’s neck then was a _triumph_ , and somehow made this whole shitty evening worth it. His eyes darted down to her lips then hastily away and Morwen beamed. She'd still got it.

“But really,” she carried on, leaning in to nudge his shoulder. “I’m only one part of the council, and don’t know my tits from my arse even on a good day. I need you to keep being honest with me.”

Cullen choked on what Morwen hoped was a laugh. “Then I shall endeavour to do so.”

He moved away; Morwen felt a pang at the loss of contact. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed just the simple feeling of someone else’s body being close to her own. Strangling Mages and Templars with her thighs just didn’t feel quite the same. She pushed herself off the war table and inclined her head towards the door.

“Thank you. Now, I’m going to get some sleep. You should probably do the same.”

“In a moment. I just need to finish attending to the troop schedule.”

Morwen rolled her eyes at him. For Maker’s sake, he’d already gone back to his bloody clipboard. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but you cannot write troop schedules if you die of sleep deprivation first, Commander. Come on, I’m declaring the war room closed for the night. I…I can do that, right?”

Cullen did laugh this time, and the rich, boyish sound of it made Morwen’s stomach clench. This was a dangerous man – more dangerous now than he had been an hour ago, when he had simply been a remote, austere figure on the other side of the table. “Yes, I suppose you can. But really, I must –“

“Trust the guards know what they’re doing, yes, you’re absolutely right!” She interrupted brightly. “Please. If I know you at all, the guards already have their rotations for the next three weeks.”

 _This isn’t going to be another Kirkwall, or another Conclave,_ she wanted to tell him, but that _would_ be overstepping, and that kind of unkeepable promise was the last thing she needed hanging around her neck.

The tips of Cullen’s ears were bright red and he laughed again, self-consciously. “I…I suppose you’re right. Very well, Herald, I will leave with you.”

Together they moved around the room, extinguishing candles and rolling up papers in comfortable silence. On their walk back through the Chantry, and then the icy streets of Haven, Cullen was a solid presence at Morwen’s side. It was nice having someone there to buffer the staring of the soldiers on duty; she’d spent so long in the shadows it was still completely unnerving to have so many eyes on her. When it came time for him to turn away towards the training ground, he turned and dipped his head.

“This is where we part then, Herald.”

Morwen raised an eyebrow. “I notice you’re not saying good night. You’re not planning to sneak back to the war room, are you?”

That got her another smile, a little crooked from the scar on his lips. “Not until dawn, you have my word.”

She glanced skywards to check the stars and clucked. “You’d better run to your tent, then, or there will hardly be any point. Until dawn, Commander.”

“Until dawn.”

He saluted gravely, but she caught the edges of the smile still lingering on his face. Before she turned away to her own bed, Morwen spared one more glance at the Breach. She still couldn’t see past it, couldn’t imagine that there would be life on the other side of its green, omnipresent glow. But there were good people in this Inquisition; people who were risking everything to see this through. Perhaps, with them, she could begin to.

**Author's Note:**

> I mostly wrote this for my own amusement, to try and flesh out my Rogue Inquisitor and figure out her motivations for supporting the rebel mage cause even though she's a Rogue Noble with a devout Chantry family. I also just really like exploring the implications of each Inquisitor's background and how scary it must have been to suddently become the Herald. I think it's a shame this wasn't incorporated more in the game, because they did it so well in Origins! 
> 
> Cullen is included because I'm weak for him and I also like thinking about how mutual admiration etc might have built up between him and an Inquisitor off-screen. Maybe there will be more of their relationship milestones in a little series, I'm not sure!


End file.
